PDF Download Shelter (Book One): A Mickey Bolitar Novel, by Harlan Coben
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Shelter (Book One): A Mickey Bolitar Novel, by Harlan Coben
PDF Download Shelter (Book One): A Mickey Bolitar Novel, by Harlan Coben
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About the Author
Harlan Coben (www.harlancoben.com) is the #1 New York Times bestselling author of numerous adult novels, as well as the two young adult novels, SHELTER and SECONDS AWAY. He has won the Edgar Award, Shamus Award, and Anthony Award--the first author to receive all three. His books are published in forty-one languages--with over 50 million copies in print worldwide--and have been #1 bestsellers in over a dozen countries. He lives in New Jersey.
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Normal0falsefalsefalseMicrosoftInternetExplorer4st1\:*{behavior:url(#ieooui) }/* Style Definitions */table.MsoNormalTable{mso-style-name:"Table Normal";mso-tstyle-rowband-size:0;mso-tstyle-colband-size:0;mso-style-noshow:yes;mso-style-parent:"";mso-padding-alt:0in 5.4pt 0in 5.4pt;mso-para-margin:0in;mso-para-margin-bottom:.0001pt;mso-pagination:widow-orphan;font-size:10.0pt;font-family:"Times New Roman";mso-ansi-language:#0400;mso-fareast-language:#0400;mso-bidi-language:#0400;} Chapter 1I was walking to school, lost in feeling sorry for myself—my dad was dead, my mom in rehab, my girlfriend missing—when I saw the Bat Lady for the first time.I had heard the rumors, of course. The Bat Lady supposedly lived alone in the dilapidated house on the corner of Hobart Gap Road and Pine. You know the one. I stood in front of it now. The worn yellow paint was shedding like an old dog. The once-solid concrete walk was cracked into quarter-size fragments. The uncut lawn had dandelions tall enough for the adult rides at Six Flags.The Bat Lady was said to be a hundred years old and only came out at night, and if some poor child hadn’t made it home from a playdate or practice at the Little League field before nightfall—if he or she risked walking home in the dark instead of getting a ride, or was maybe crazy enough to cut through her yard—the Bat Lady got you.What she supposedly did with you was never made clear. No child had vanished from this town in years. Teenagers, like my girlfriend, Ashley, sure, they could be here one day, holding your hand, looking deep into your eyes, making your heart go boom-boom-boom—and be gone the next. But little kids? Nope. They were safe, even from the Bat Lady.So I was just about to cross to the other side of the street—even I, a mature teenager entering my sophomore year at a brand-new high school, wanted to avoid that spooky house—when the door creaked open.I froze.For a moment, nothing happened. The door was all the way open now, but no one was there. I stopped and waited. Maybe I blinked. I can’t be sure.But when I looked again, the Bat Lady was there.She could have been a hundred years old. Or maybe two hundred. I had no idea why they called her Bat Lady. She didn’t look like a bat. Her hair was gray and hippie long, hanging down to her waist. It blew in the wind, obscuring her face. She wore a torn white gown that resembled a bridal costume in an old horror movie or heavy-metal video. Her spine was bent like a question mark.Slowly Bat Lady raised a hand so pale it was more vein-blue than white, and pointed a shaky, bony finger in my direction. I said nothing. She kept pointing until she was sure I was looking. When she saw that I was, Bat Lady’s wrinkled face spread into a smile that sent little icicles down my spine.“Mickey?”I had no idea how she knew my name.“Your father isn’t dead,” Bat Lady said.Her words sent a jolt that knocked me back a step.“He is very much alive.”But standing there, watching her vanish back into her decrepit cave, I knew what she was telling me wasn’t true.Because I had seen my father die. Okay, that was weird.I stood in front of Bat Lady’s house and waited for her to come back out. No go. I walked over to her door and looked for a doorbell. There was none, so I started pounding on the door. It shook under the onslaught. The wood was so rough it scraped my knuckles like sandpaper. Paint chips fell off as if the door had a bad case of dandruff.But the Bat Lady did not appear.So now what? Kick down the door . . . and then what? Find an old lady in a weird white dress and demand she explain her whack-a-doodle rants? Maybe she had gone upstairs. Maybe Bat Lady was now getting ready for her loony day, changing out of her white dress, heading to the shower . . .Ugh.Time to go. I didn’t want to miss the first bell anyway. My homeroom teacher, Mr. Hill, was a stickler for punctuality. Plus I still hoped that Ashley would show up today. She had vanished into thin air. Maybe she would just reappear the same way.I met Ashley three weeks ago at high school orientation for both new kids (Ashley and me, for example) and incoming freshmen, all of whom already knew one another because they went to middle school and elementary school together. No one ever seems to leave this town.An orientation should consist of visiting your classes, getting a tour of the facilities, and maybe meeting a few classmates. But no, that’s not enough. We had to participate in these moronic, dehumanizing, and totally awkward “team building” exercises.The first involved the “trust fall.” Ms. Owens, a PE teacher with a smile that looked like it’d been painted on by a drunk clown, started off by trying to fire us up.“Good morning, everyone!”A few groans.Then—and I hate when adults do this—she shouted, “I know you’re more excited than that, so let’s try it again! Good morning, everyone!”The students yelled “Good morning” louder this time, not because they were excited but because they wanted her to stop.We were broken down into groups of six—mine featured three incoming freshmen and three upperclassmen who had just moved to town.“One of you will stand on this pedestal and wear a blindfold!” Ms. Owens exclaimed. Everything she said ended in an exclamation mark. “You will cross your arms and now I want you to pretend that the pedestal is on fire! Oh no!” Ms. Owens put her hands on her cheeks like the kid in Home Alone. “It’s so hot that you’ll have to fall back!”Someone raised his hand. “Why would we keep our arms crossed if the pedestal was on fire?”Murmurs of agreement.Ms. Owens’s painted-on smile didn’t change, but I thought I noticed a twitch in her right eye. “Your arms are tied!”“They are? No, they’re not.”“Pretend!”“But if we pretend that, why do we need the blindfold? Can’t we just pretend not to see?”“Or close our eyes?”Ms. Owens fought for control. “The pedestal is so hot from the fire that you fall backward off of it.”“Backward?”“Wouldn’t we jump, Ms. Owens?”“Really. Why would we fall backward? I mean, if it’s that hot.”Ms. Owens had enough. “Because I say so! You will fall backward! The rest of the group will catch you! Then you’ll switch places until everyone has a turn falling backward!”We all did this, though some of us were hesitant. I’m six-four and weigh two hundred pounds. The group winced when they saw me. Another girl in my group, an incoming freshman dressed all in black, was on the fat side. I know I should call her something other than fat, something more politically correct, but I’m not sure what without sounding condescending. Large? Chubby? Heavy? I say those without judgment, the same way I might say small, bony, or skinny.The big girl hesitated before she climbed onto the pedestal. Someone in our group laughed. Then someone else.Other than to show this girl that cruelty will not stop when you enter high school, I had no idea how this exercise was supposed to help anyone.When the girl didn’t fall back right away, one of the freshman boys snickered and said, “C’mon, Ema. We’ll catch you.”It was not a voice that gave her confidence. She pulled down her blindfold and looked back at us. I met her eye and nodded. Finally she let herself fall. We caught her—some adding dramatic grunts—but Ema didn’t look any more trusting.We then played some dumb paintball game where two people got hurt and then we moved into an exercise called—I wish I were kidding—“Poisoned Peanut Butter.” For this event, you had to cross over a ten-yard patch of Poisoned Peanut Butter but, as Ms. Owens explained, “Only two of you can wear the Anti-Poison shoes to get across at a time!”In short, you had to carry other team members on your back. The small girls laughed with a tee-hee as they were carried. A photographer with the Star-Ledger newspaper was there, snapping away. The reporter asked a glowing Ms. Owens questions, her answers filled with words like bonding, welcoming, trusting. I couldn’t imagine what sort of story you’d do on something like this, but maybe they were desperate for “human interest” material.I stood in the back of the Poisoned Peanut Butter line with Ema. Black mascara was running down her face with what might have been silent tears. I wondered if the photographer would get that.As it came closer to Ema’s turn for teammates to carry her across the Poisoned Peanut Butter, I could actually feel her start to shake in fear.Think about it.It’s your first day at a new school and you’re a girl who weighs probably two hundred pounds and you’re forced to put on gym shorts and then, to complete some inane group task, your new smaller classmates have to lug you like a beer keg for ten yards while you just want to curl up in a ball and die.Who thinks this is a good idea?Ms. Owens came over to our team. “Ready, Emma?!”Ema (with a long e) or Emma. I didn’t know what her name was now.Emma/Ema said nothing.“You go, girl! Right across the Poisoned Peanut Butter! You can do it!”Then I said, “Ms. Owens?”She turned her gaze on me. The smile never changed, but the eyes narrowed slightly. “And you are?”“My name is Mickey Bolitar. I’m an incoming sophomore. And I’m going to sit out this exercise, if it’s okay.”Again the flutter in Ms. Owens’s right eye. “Excuse me?”“Yeah, I don’t really think I’m up for being carried.”The other kids looked at me like I had a third arm growing out of my forehead.“Mr. Bolitar, you’re new here.” The exclamation point was gone from Ms. Owens’s voice. “I would think you’d want to participate.”“Is it mandatory?” I asked.“Excuse me?”“Is participating in this particular exercise mandatory?”“Well, no, it’s not manda—”“Then I’m sitting out.” I looked over at Ema/Emma. “Would you mind keeping me company?”We walked away then. Behind me I could hear the world go silent. Then Ms. Owens blew a whistle, stopping the exercise and calling for lunch.When we were a few more feet away, Ema/Emma said, “Wow.”“What?”She looked me straight in the eye. “You saved the fat girl. I bet you’re really proud of yourself.”Then she shook her head and walked away.I looked behind me. Ms. Owens watched us. She still had the smile, but the glare in her eyes made it clear that I’d managed to make an enemy my first day.The sun beat down upon me. I let it. I closed my eyes for a moment. I thought about my mother, who was coming home from rehab soon. I thought about my father, who was dead and buried.I felt very much alone.The school cafeteria was closed—school opening was still weeks away—so we all had to bring our own. I bought a buffalo chicken sub at Wilkes Deli and sat by myself on a grassy hill overlooking the football field. I was about to bite into it when I noticed her.She wasn’t my type, though I really don’t have a type. I’ve spent my entire life traveling overseas. My parents worked for a charitable foundation in places like Laos and Peru and Sierra Leone. I don’t have any siblings. It was exciting and fun when I was a kid, but it got tiresome and difficult as I grew older. I wanted to stay in one place. I wanted to make some friends and play on one basketball team and, well, meet girls and do teenage stuff. It’s hard to do that when you’re backpacking in Nepal.This girl was very pretty, sure, but she was also prim and proper and preppy. Something about her looked stuck-up, though I couldn’t say what. Her hair was the pale blond of a porcelain doll. She wore an actual, well, skirt, not one of those short-short ones, and what might have been bobby socks, and looked as though she’d just walked out of my grandparents’ Brooks Brothers catalog.I took a bite of my sandwich and then I noticed that she didn’t have a lunch. Maybe she was on some kind of weird diet, but for some reason I didn’t think so.I don’t know why, but I decided to walk over to her. I wasn’t much in the mood to talk or to meet anyone. I was still reeling from all the new people in my life and really didn’t want to add any more.Maybe it was just because she was so pretty. Maybe I’m just as shallow as the next guy. Or maybe it was because the lonely can sometimes sense the lonely. Maybe what drew me to her was the fact that, like me, she seemed to want to keep to herself.I approached tentatively. When I got close enough, I gave a half wave and said, “Hi.”I always open with super-smooth lines like this.She looked up at me and shaded eyes the green of emeralds. “Hi.”Yep, very pretty.I stood there, feeling awkward. My face reddened. My hands suddenly felt too big for my body. The second thing I said to her was, “My name is Mickey.”Man, am I smooth or what? Every line is killer.“I’m Ashley Kent.”“Cool,” I said.“Yeah.”Somewhere in this world—in China or India or a remote section of Africa—there was probably a bigger dork than me. But I couldn’t swear to that.I pointed at her empty lap. “Did you bring lunch?”“No, I forgot.”“This sandwich is huge,” I said. “Do you want half?”“Oh, I couldn’t.”But I insisted and then she invited me to join her. Ashley was also a sophomore and also new in town. Her father, she said, was a renowned surgeon. Her mother was a lawyer.If life were a movie, this was the part where you’d start the music montage. Some sappy song would be playing while they flashed to Ashley and me sharing lunch, talking, laughing, looking coy, holding hands—and ending with that first chaste kiss.That was three weeks ago.I made it into Mr. Hill’s class just as the bell sounded. He took roll call. The bell pealed again, and it was time for first period. Ashley’s homeroom was across the hall. I waited and saw that yet again she wasn’t here.I described Ashley before as my girlfriend. That might have been an exaggeration. We were taking it slow, I guess. We’d kissed twice—no more. I didn’t really like anyone else at my new school. I liked her. It wasn’t love. But it was also early. On the other hand, feelings like this usually diminish. That’s the truth. We like to pretend that they grow as we get closer to our new partner. But most times, it’s the opposite. We guys see that gorgeous girl and we get this big-time crush, one that makes it hard to breathe and makes us so anxious, want it so bad, that we always blow it.If we do somehow land her, the feelings begin to diminish almost immediately. In this case, my feelings for Ashley really did grow. That was a little scary in a good way.Then one day I came to school and Ashley was absent. I tried her cell phone, but there was no answer. She was gone the next day too. Then the next. I wasn’t sure what to do. I didn’t have her home address. I checked the name Kent online, but they must have been unlisted. In fact, there was nothing about her online at all.Ashley had simply vanished into thin air.
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Product details
Age Range: 12 and up
Grade Level: 7 - 9
Series: A Mickey Bolitar Novel (Book 1)
Paperback: 336 pages
Publisher: Speak; Reprint edition (August 21, 2012)
Language: English
ISBN-10: 0142422037
ISBN-13: 978-0142422038
Product Dimensions:
5.4 x 0.9 x 8.2 inches
Shipping Weight: 12 ounces (View shipping rates and policies)
Average Customer Review:
4.2 out of 5 stars
574 customer reviews
Amazon Best Sellers Rank:
#65,300 in Books (See Top 100 in Books)
I am one of the biggest Coben fans out there but I will admit I was a little skeptical about the start of this series. However, I am glad I read it. This novel is a lot like the Myron Bolitar novels, fast and furious plot, great characters and a mystery that is hard to put down.This novel basically starts with Mickey being the new guy in school. It doesn't take the new guy long to get into trouble, which all centers around an old woman(the boogyman... woman of the town) an old mystery and a new friend that has disappeared. Mickey much like his uncle Myron is one on the case. With his other new friends, Ema and Spoon there to help he must figure out a secret that is connected to his father and a missing young girl who needs all the help she can get.The novels spends back to Live Wire several times and also our old buddy Myron shows up several times as well. Part of the mystery of this novel is actually introduced in Live Wire and I do recommend reading that before jumping into this one. Chances are the person reading this is a fan of Coben and has gobbled up all of Myron's novels as quick as I have. This is a must read for a Coben fan or a fan of the Myron Bolitar series.Grade A+
I was anxious to read Shelter (Book One): A Mickey Bolitar Novel by Harlan Coben because I've read all of the Myron Bolitar novels by Coben and adore the characters in those novels. I feel as if Myron, his best friend Win, Esperanza, and the other characters are people I know.So when Coben decided to branch off into Young Adult Fiction, I followed even though I don't normally read YA, because this series stars Myron Bolitar's nephew Mickey. Of course, I hoped that Myron and the gang would make appearances in this new series.Blurb ItIf you're a Myron Bolitar fan, you already know that his brother was mentioned belatedly in the series, surprising readers who thought Myron was an only child. When Coben decided to go YA, he brought Myron's brother on to the scene, only to kill him off almost immediately. That was the setup that resulted in Myron's nephew Mickey coming to live with him.Mickey witnessed his father's death and watched his mom come apart at the seams. With his Uncle Myron's help, he gets his mom into rehab. Mickey has all the usual resentment toward the uncle who was never part of his life. Combine that with the usual teen angst, and you have a mixed up kid who's convinced life sucks. Throw in being the new kid at school, and Mickey is thoroughly miserable.Meeting Ashley makes him think life is improving, but she disappears. Determined to find out what happened to her, Mickey follows the clues. With the help of two new friends who practically wear the loser label, Mickey finds himself in the middle of a conspiracy that makes him question everything, including the death of his father.I enjoyed the book and its plot and characters. My only quibble with Shelter is that Coben uses descriptions originally used by Myron and friends. For instance, Myron is known for describing beautiful women as knee-knockers. Mickey uses this label too, but it's anachronistic for Mickey's generation. Because of the way the characterization is constructed, it's also not a phrase he'd pick up from his uncle whom he barely knows. Other than a few things like this, the book was a delight.If you're looking for a solid mystery, don't pass up Shelter (Book One): A Mickey Bolitar Novel.
SHELTER was an exciting mystery with charismatic characters and a well-developed plot. Mickey Bolitar is living with his uncle Myron in New Jersey. His father died in a car accident and his mother became a drug addict. Myron and his father were estranged and Mickey is not warming to his new uncle.Mickey is only a sophomore in high school but is very mature for his age. He and his parents traveled the world working for a non-profit organization. They came back to the US to make a more settled home for Mickey for his last three years of high school. Mickey is a talented basketball star, much like his uncle Myron.Now that Mickey is living with Myron while his mother is in rehab, he is starting school in the town where his father and uncle were raised. He makes friends with Ashley, who is also a new kid, and is then distressed when after three weeks of school she disappears. He also makes friends with Ema who is an overweight, goth girl who is one of the school's social outcasts and Spoon who is a unique character and who adds some humor to the story with his non sequitur trivia. Of course, Spoon also has access to school keys since his father is a janitor there. Together the three investigate Ashley's disappearance and learn about the white slavery trade, Nazi war crimes, and what Mickey's parents were really doing in their time overseas.I liked all the characters and especially liked Mickey. I look forward to reading the next book in the Mickey Bolitar series--especially since this one left some tantalizing questions that need answers.
I have read most of Harlan Coben's books and loved them. However, I avoided the Mickey Bolitar books, since they were for young adults. Big mistake. I read this book in a day........couldn't put it down. What a ride! Mr. Coben can spin a plot like no other. Can't wait to read the rest of this series!
I enjoyed the book. A real page turner but really ending it here is not very good. I would rather have paid more for the book and had a conclusion to the storey rather than waiting for the next book to be released. I like Harlan Cobens books and have read most of them. Plots are very intriguing and a lot of thought goes into his books.
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